A Destiny Not My Own
by Hawkeye116
Summary: All that I’ve learned from the visions is that I’m not supposed to exist. But I exist anyway, and it scares me. The worst part is neither the memories nor even the visions. It’s the dreams that scare me the most. [SemiAU, Katara's PoV, Zutara later]


A/N: Behold! I am not dead; I am alive, and I'm finally writing a new fic. Not just drabbles, either. Yay.

This is a semi-AU story, but it's also a sort of what-if story. The basic premise and the factors that make it an AU even though it's placed in the canon timeline (somewhat) will be revealed in future chapters.

Updates on this story may not be as frequent as you might hope, so I apologize for that in advance.

Also, this story is in Katara's point of view. Her personality is a little bit different than the canon timeline's because her circumstances are a little bit different; she is more confident and strong in this story. You get to see a lot more of the Kick-butt!Siege-of-the-North!Katara; think of it that way.

Disclaimer: Avatar: the Last Airbender is, simply put, not mine at all.

* * *

A Destiny Not My Own  
Chapter One: My Existence is Meaningless

* * *

_I hate the memories._

_The memories aren't mine—they are someone else's, a thousand different peoples' memories, all shoved into one single mind—me. Why do I remember all these different people? Incredible people of all different Nations and time periods and personalities, each worthy of the world's awe and respect. They don't have anything to do with me, so…why do I remember them?_

_And then it's not just the memories, but the visions as well—I don't see the environment around me, I see a whole different scene, a whole different world that yet is still mine. Visions that aren't from either the past or the future—that much I know. They're visions of the present. To be correct, visions of a present that should be but is not._

_All that I've learned from the visions is that I'm not supposed to exist. But I exist anyway, and it scares me._

_The worst part is neither the memories nor even the visions. It's the dreams that scare me the most._

_If my memories are of the past and my visions of the present, then my dreams are most certainly of the future. Or, yet again to correct myself, thousands of futures—a single path split in a million different ways so that it's like some ancient tree as old as the world with more branches than all the years it has endured._

_The dreams are dreams of terrible consequences: of apocalypses, of global war, of plague spreading across the entire world, of hurricanes raging and tearing apart the skies and earthquakes tearing apart the earth. After the dreams I wake sometime during the night, and I cry and cry until I have no more tears because I know that there is no hope for this world._

_I know I'm the hope for this world from the memories and the visions—and from the dreams I remember that my existence is meaningless.

* * *

_

It was just another day in my average life, just another snowy, cold, crystal-clear winter day. The sun rose and reflected light off the bright snow and glaciers like it always did; the people of my village rose at the same hour they always did, to finish off the necessary chores for the morning and gather together perhaps to have a breakfast of fish or munch on some seal blubber jerky. I woke the same as I always did, crawled out from under my fur blanket like I always did, slid into my warm parka as quickly as the days before. It was just another day, and I was just another girl to be married off as soon as the men from our tribe returned home. That life I did not wish for; I visualized other futures, but kept them to myself, for I had to be an example for the women of my tribe just as Gran-Gran had to.

It was just another morning when I had awoken from another one of those dreadful dreams that I'd been having since my mother died, when my body was coated in cold sweat from the horrors that had pervaded my mind during my resting hours, when I had no control over my thoughts. I said nothing of this to Gran-Gran or Sokka; it wasn't worth worrying them over. The dreams were, after all, just dreams. I had learned to deal with the strange visions and memories that crossed my eyes during the day, the nightmares that haunted me during the night. All those awful memories and visions and dreams were pointless to fret about, for they were just another part of my meaningless life.

That day, Sokka wanted to go fishing. I, being bored of my assigned tasks, decided to tag along with him. I had thought that I might've been able to practice some more Waterbending, for I hadn't in a while.

Being the only Waterbender in my whole miniscule tribe was a strange thing. I had been able to bend since I was a toddler, Gran-Gran told me. Those days, when I was no longer a child, but not yet a woman, I was an extremely proficient bender, but I never had a chance to practice my made-up Waterbending moves. They were all so fluid and graceful, and the movements came to me with incredible ease; I was sure that, had I gone to the war with the men of my tribe two years ago, I would have been one of their greatest warriors. I could defend the tribe alongside Sokka; the two of us were powerful, even if we young. Sokka was foolish and perhaps not the most skilled of warriors; but he was innovative, and with his wit and my strength, we could take down some of the stronger seals that attacked us while we hunted for food. Sokka and I were the hunters; we were the food-providers. We kept the tribe alive.

Gran-Gran, of course, taught me all the things a one-day wife ought to know; I helped deliver babies, I learned to cook and clean, to wash clothes and tidy up after Sokka (who I claimed was just too lazy to do his own work). But still, my advanced Waterbending made me unique, and many of the women of the tribe had tried to work out some marital agreement for their sons with Gran-Gran more than once. She would hear none of it herself, saying she was not to say who I should marry, but that, my father permitting, _I _would decide who I would marry. I loved her for this kindness and prayed to whatever Spirits there were that I might not ever marry. My soul called for adventure, for journeying, for freedom. I was not a woman to be domesticated so young.

Naturally, I was very testy when Sokka commented that my dreams were a bit strange for a girl my age. He had phrased his words casually, indifferently, but I knew there was something much more than he was telling me. Sokka was concealing something from me, and it made me just a little frustrated.

"Sokka, what is it?" I demanded, knowing almost instinctively that it wasn't a good thing. I watched as his face contorted into a look of pity, then fear, and then seriousness. My brother rarely ever appeared intelligent unless he was planning, so I knew this would be important.

"Katara," he said softly, seemingly sympathetic and sad for me. "Gran-Gran's been talking with the other women of the village."

I raised my eyebrow. "And?"

"Well, dad's been gone for two years, and we haven't had contact with anybody from the other Nations in that long a time. So, someone has to go to communicate and see what's going on."

I remained emotionless, but I could tell Sokka was a little excited and at the same time, nervous. What was so wrong? "Who's going to go?"

He shifted disconcertedly. After a moment, "Me."

"I'm going with you, right?"

And that's when he bit his lip. "No." It was almost a whisper, not even a real answer. Perhaps I had just imagined Sokka had made that utterance; but I knew it was the answer, and that I was destined to stay in the South Pole forever. But Sokka leaving me by myself? I didn't know if I could handle that.

"And you agreed to it?" I asked. Of course he didn't. He wasn't going to go. He wasn't going to leave me behind. We'd either go together, or else someone else would go. As much of an oaf my brother was, I still deeply loved him. To have him torn away from like my mother had, my father had—I didn't want another family member to leave me. I couldn't be the last to remain.

But his answer was not the thing I expected. "I did. It was my choice."

"You're leaving me." It was a statement, not a question. "You're going to venture around the world and you're leaving your remaining family behind."

"Well, Katara, you _are_ a girl, so you might not be fit—"

"What!" I felt the rage bubbling up from my stomach, erupting out through my words, my body flailing wildly to add emphasis to what I shouted. "Just because I'm a _girl_? You're such a sexist pig, I ought to make you into seal blubber jerky!"

And so on, as the insults flew out. They weren't even near the extent of my anger, however; before I knew what I was doing, I felt myself communing with the water around me. The water was lifting me up, a great beam of light was shooting up into the open sky, and the waves were growing stronger and wilder. And then I knew nothing more except that I was underwater and I couldn't breathe.

* * *

When I reached the surface, I gasped for air, coughing and spitting out water that I had accidentally swallowed. I grasped the edge of a floating island of ice with a blue mitten-adorned hand, scrambling up over the edge of the ice and flopping spread eagle on my back, breathing in the cold, precious air that sustained all life. After a few seconds of this, I realized that Sokka wasn't around. "Sokka!" I called out; no one answered. That wasn't good. Not good at all. 

My eyes surveyed the water in all directions, trying to remember where he had landed, what had happened, what had I done. There, in the water! A blotch of dark that slightly resembled the shape of a human being. I dove into the water without a second thought, hoping and praying to the Spirits that it was Sokka, and that he was okay.

I got a firm grip on the body that I recognized was, indeed, Sokka's. At the surface, I dragged him out of the water and onto another little island of ice. He was soaked, and he wasn't breathing. Oh Spirits. Breathe in; breathe out, I told myself. Where was the canoe? I had to get back to the village, where I could perhaps heal Sokka completely. But I'd do what I could first.

Concentrating on the water inside Sokka's body, I placed my hand over his lungs, summoning the excess fluid in his lungs to my heed. I traced my hand up to his neck, over his windpipe, and finally stopped hovering over his mouth. Some of the water he had swallowed flowed out of his mouth and carelessly onto the ice beside his body. He coughed wearily, clutching at himself, shivering from the cold. Focusing my thoughts, I drew the water out of his clothing and parka, splashing it roughly into the ocean.

I touched his hand; it was still bitterly frigid, even after I had dried out his clothing. Sokka was breathing, at least, but he was so cold, so distant. I felt it, I knew it: he was close to death, and there was nothing more I could do for him other than get him home.

And, Spirits, where was the canoe?

* * *

Twenty minutes later and I had finally found the canoe. Sokka was so cold, his skin clammy and graying. I tried to hold back tears, but they still spilled over, streaming ungracefully down my cheeks, splashing on the sleeves of my parka and leaving little dark tearstains on the fabric. Praying and praying, I moved as fast as I could, lugging Sokka into the nearly waterlogged canoe. I bended most of the water out, stepping in hastily after setting Sokka's body gently on the bottom of the canoe. Without looking for a paddle, I propelled the canoe forward with Waterbending. 

To my horror, there was a hole in the bottom of the canoe. Trying my best to multitask, I kept the canoe going at a moderate pace while I froze the water to block the hole. The canoe sunk a little lower into the water; the top of the canoe was about four inches above the surface of the water. As I pushed the water behind me, propelling the canoe forward faster and faster, water splashed into the interior of the small, narrow watercraft. It just seemed that I was destined to fail, for moving the canoe forward while taking out the excess water took a grave toll on my strength.

I wondered if this was end.

* * *

The village was in sight. I saw the smoke from the fire in the center of the village and was comforted, for there was warmth and family and home, redemption and safety and all the good things about the world. If I reached there quickly enough, then my precious loved one would live; Sokka would _live_, even though I had already wept for his death. 

I pushed the water behind the canoe with a newly invigorated force; I was so close, so near, and our future called. I knew it not, but everything would change within a matter of few hours. Everything that I had held dear and precious would come to an end, and a new journey would begin; a new destiny would be formulated for my now not-so-average, not-so-normal self. My life would take a complete turnaround, and I would become the one thing I was certain I would never be.

Destiny awaited, ready to take me in its grasp, indifferent if I was ready or not.


End file.
